


we are all sinners

by aredburn



Category: Hansel and Gretel: Witch Hunters (2013)
Genre: F/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-09
Updated: 2013-02-09
Packaged: 2017-11-28 18:43:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/677629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aredburn/pseuds/aredburn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She dreams of wounds and death, doesn’t let him know how much Muriel has affected her, but she needs to feel him alive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we are all sinners

**Author's Note:**

> I guess I’m afflicted with loving a movie nobody cares about and not really caring about movies people make the biggest fuss over. Most times. I have so many ideas for these two that my head is bubbling with things to write. There wasn’t much development in the movie to let me get a hold of their personalities, so hopefully this won’t be too terribly OOC. 
> 
> Funny thing, I’m not into incest (never have been) and but since I watched the trailer I knew they’d do me over. Too much chemistry and badassary for them to be simply siblings. Not fair! But then again, they killed the only possible love interest, so I’m going to run with that too :)
> 
> This wasn’t beta-ed so I apologise for any mistakes

She wakes up with a start, labored breath and racing heart and fragments of her dream slowly slipping away as fear hides in the corners of her mind. Gretel's eyes swipes to her right, to the bed where her brother still snores slightly and she takes comfort in the sound.

She closes her eyes and takes a deep intake of breath, hand wiping the hair out of her face and resting against her forehead, against the cold sweat above her eyebrows and her upper lip. She still can smell the blood, metallic and bitter and thick as it flows out of brother's body, staining the front of his clothes and pooling around his feet. The images dancing behind her closed eyelids.

He's alive,  _he's okay_ , she tries to remind herself, forcing the rest of the images and feelings away, trying to forget how her voice came out in sharp edges as it tore her throat when she screamed his name. She sees it in her mind's eye over and over the dagger entering his flesh, cutting him deep and mortally and the desperation and pain that accompanies the memory because she had been taken away before she had time to see if he was all right; before she had time to mourn if it came to that.

"Hansel?" She calls his name in a whisper, her heartbeat slowing down and her blood flowing in regular speed, but her mind is still a mile a minute.

He grunts in response, doesn't bother to stir or look at her and she wonders if he's awake or just dreaming, if he has nightmares of that hunt, if he worries about anything.

Gretel pulls her covers aside and swings her bare legs to the edge of the bed, getting up and padding silently across the space between their beds. The room they're in is nice, big enough for the both of them, two beds and a small washing room and she's grateful whenever they are able to indulge in such luxuries. The pay for the Augsburg hunting had been good; when the Mayor and the townsfolk got all their children back and learned of all the dead witches they had insisted in paying an extra sum for their help. Hansel had taken the money without any argument.

Extra money and extra cargo because Benjamin had insisted in following them and Gretel didn't have the heart to deny the boy, not when he had been such a great help. Edward had earned her trust and friendship and after some arguing Hansel had agree to let them both tag along. She couldn't deny it felt nice to have extra company. But with that it also came lack of privacy or time to deal with things like they always did. She and her brother barely had time alone to talk or just be together in the days between Augsburg and this Inn.

"Hansel?" She shakes him gently, one hand on his shoulder the other curled in a ball around the edge of the night shirt that barely reached her mid tights.

He wakes with a start, one hand closing in a fist, the other grabbing her wrist until he realizes who it is and gentles his hold on her. "Are you okay? What's wrong?"

"Move." She nudges him, but there's so little room to move that all he does is pull the covers so she can slip under them. The beds are so small they barely hold one person and that had been the only reason they had taken separate beds. She hates being away from him like this.

Gretel settles on her side, her legs tangling with his and the tip of his nose brushing against hers as his breath fans over her face; it still smells of peppermint and she closes her eyes to appreciate the proximity.

"Bad dream?" he asks, sneaking a hand around her waist and pulling her closer as his fingers rub circles on her back. She nods, but doesn't say a word. "About our parents?" She shakes her head and the movement makes their noses brush again and it makes her smile. "Wanna talk about it?"

Instead of speaking she runs her hand down his naked chest until it finds the spot she's looking for and her fingertips press against the scar. He should have died, she thinks, he should be dead and gone and she should be alone and forgotten and in that moment she understands that magic is so much more than evil, that the constant humming inside her ears isn't her mother's bless, but her own power dormant, just waiting to be used.

"I thought I had lost you," she doesn't need to specify because the way her thumb runs the length of the scar is answer enough.

"I'm here, I'm okay. Don't think about it."

How can she not, when every time she tries to imagine herself without him she feels as if her chest may just be rip open, as if she isn't right, as if he's a part of her and without him she can't function. Just the thought of being without him terrifies her.

Her hand leaves his stomach, fingers trailing down until she finds the edge of his breeches, sneaking her fingers inside, splaying them below his navel, just above where she really wants to touch.

"Gretel," it's a warning, filled with lust and desire and it loses its intent entirely when she looks up at him, big brown eyes reflecting the moonlight shining through the window and the love he feels for her.

"I need to feel you alive," she murmurs just before pressing her lips to him, before he can protest, before he can change his mind again, before he has time to think and process what is happening. She moves closer, lying almost on top of him and her free hand cradles his head, fingers burying into his hair and nails scraping his scalp.

He kisses her back, lips parting and tongues meeting halfway. The kiss is sensual and lazy and she takes her time nipping at his bottom lip and sucking his tongue as he pulls her completely on top of him and his hands rests on her hips. Gretel straddles him, her thin underwear and the fabric of his breeches the only thing between his hardness and her center and when she rubs against him he moans into her mouth.

She kisses him lazily, her tongue swiping the inside of his mouth as she relearns every corner, every taste, every movement of his tongue and lips as her hips rocks against him, adding pressure between his cock and her clit even through their clothes, until she feels the familiar burning forming in the bottom of her stomach and she stops.

"Gretel…" he moans, annoyance evident in his voice and she smiles at him before rocking one more time.

She leans back, moves only enough to remove her under garment and pull his breeches down to his knees, then she's back on top of him, fingers back into his hair, rough and desperate while her free hand slides down, guides him inside and when he's buried deep they both sigh into each other's mouths.

Her night shirt rides higher as Hansel's hands splay against her hips and his fingertips sink against her skin, nails digging deeper as she moves ever so slowly and tucks her lips against the crook between his shoulder and neck.

They move in synchrony, a perfect rhythm they learned years before, like fighting their battles and dancing around witches and bonfires and sleepless nights. Blurry lines they learned to smooth out, to step around conversations and wash out the blood off their actions. They have both accepted their connection is something nobody will ever understand, the tight knot between them that can never be cut or undone, as if they're two halves of a same, unable to function when apart, but strong and deadly when they're together, no flaw to be found.

She picks up her pace when the burning reaches her legs, adding more friction to the last moment before she shudders and sinks her teeth into the skin of his neck. She doesn't move until she feels the warmth fills her within and knows he's gone over. Gretel kisses over the spot she bit, moves her lips to his mouth and gives him lingering kisses until they're both back down and their bodies stop shaking.

She moves from his lap, pulls his breeches back up and settles against his side, the tiny bed forcing her to sprawl half on top of him, her head resting in the crook of his neck, palm pressed against his heart and legs so entwined she can hardly tell them apart.

It doesn't matter how many times they promise each other this will never happen again, because they're empty promises made in the hardest moments, broken in the vulnerable ones, apologies whispered during midnight bells, love confessed during the break of morning as the cycle starts all over again.

"I'm sorry." The words come like alarm clocks, half meanings and half-truths, something to make them forgive themselves when the only thing that can make them feel better is the heat of each other's skin.

"Don't be," Hansel replies, pulling her closer and kissing the top of her head and pretending they're not the sinners the world would make them to be.

"Don't ever leave me. Promise me that." Her voice is sleepy and tired and she's halfway gone before his words reach her ears.

"I promise."

 


End file.
